I always had a superstitious fear of setting up a too well-designed writing place and then finding that the writing had absconded.

I've always associated the moment of writing with a moment of lift, of joy, of unexpected reward.

If you have the words, there's always a chance that you'll find the way.

Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests; snug as a gun.

Then as the years went on and my listening became more deliberate, I would climb up on an arm of our big sofa to get my ear closer to the wireless speaker.

Manifesting that order of poetry where we can at last grow up to that which we stored up as we grew.